Росс Макдональд - Meet Me at the Morgue

“Fine.” Cleat swung his cigar towards Amy Miner: “I want this biddy locked up as a material witness. No bail.”

“Witness to what?” she cried on a rising note. “You can’t put me in jail. I haven’t done nothing.”

“It’s for your own protection, Mrs. Miner.” The formula came out pat. “We let you run around loose, you could end up in an alley with an icepick in your neck.”

She turned to me, her thin torso leaning tensely forward from the hips: “How can he, Mr. Cross? I’m innocent. They haven’t got nothing on Fred even.”

“Lieutenant Cleat has the right,” I said. “Your husband’s under suspicion. They’ll let you go as soon as he’s cleared.”

“If,” Cleat said.

She batted her eyes like a scared filly, and ran for the door and the sunlight. The man who was coming in caught her around the waist, immobilized her flailing arms and passed her to the police guard. The guard pushed her towards the black car that was waiting in the drive. Her angular shadow merged with the shadow of the car.

The young man in the doorway was florid and stocky. His silhouette was almost square in a double-breasted business suit.

“I’m Forest, Special Agent,” he said briskly, and shook hands with efficient heartiness. “Our technicians are coming down in the mobile unit, should be here very soon. I understand there’s a ransom note?”

I quoted it, almost verbatim. It kept repeating itself in the back of my mind, like a song that was too ugly to forget.

Forest’s quick brown eyes steadied and sobered. “Nasty piece of work, eh? Who’s in charge of the case here?”

“Lieutenant Cleat is. The corpus was found in the city. But the boy lives in the county. If Miner snatched him, the crime originated in sheriff’s territory.”

“You with the sheriff’s department?”

“I’m a probation officer.” I explained who Miner was, and my connection with the case.

Forest turned to Cleat. “Call the sheriff, will you please, Lieutenant?” He added in a rather doctrinaire tone: “Cooperation with local agencies is our first principle.”

Cleat glanced involuntarily at the body on the table. It had been all his until now. “Okay.” He removed his cigar, threw it on the concrete floor, ground it to shreds with his heel, and left the room. A bleat of organ music came through the inner door before he closed it.

Forest went to the body. His practiced hands dove in and out of the pockets. “Ugly customer, eh?”

“Handsome is as handsome does. I searched him when I found him. Nothing useful, except a pocket comb with his initials, A.G.L. The murderer didn’t want him identified too soon.”

“He was stabbed, wasn’t he? Where’s the weapon?”

“It was done with an icepick. They’re testing it for prints now. I don’t think they’re going to find any.”

“Icepicked, eh? And hijacked. It could be a big-time mob at work. Fifty thousand is a lot of hay. The parents wealthy?”

“The father has half a million or so, according to the rumors.”

“Like to talk to him.”

“He’s at home, ill. The mother’s probably in my office now. It isn’t far.”

“She have the ransom letter?”

“I think she left it at home.”

“We want to get to work on that. They’re bringing our file along for comparison. Modus operandi is primary in a kidnap case. It’s like a compulsion neurosis repeating itself. Not that it often gets a chance to repeat.”

He shot his cuff with a peculiarly mechanical movement, and looked at his watch. I half expected him to suggest we synchronize our watches.

“Twenty past three,” he said. “Let’s get going. You can give me a rundown on the way and I’ll check back here later.”

We cut across the courthouse grounds. A trusty was mowing the lawn with a power mower. The cut grass smelled fresh and sweet, and after the pavement the springy turf was pleasant underfoot.

I talked and Forest listened. He listened well. I had the impression that my words were being recorded on rolls of permanent tape whizzing round in his skull.

When we reached the County Annex , Ann was locking the door of the office. I introduced her to Forest.

“Has Mrs. Johnson gone home?”

“Yes,” she said. “I promised to drive out after her. Helen shouldn’t be alone, and she doesn’t seem to have any friends or relatives available.”

“You’re a dutiful girl.”

She flinched at the compliment, and bit her lower lip. “I have nothing better to do.”

“I wonder, might I hitch a ride with you, Miss Devon?” Forest spoke very politely. Ann was pretty. “I’m not familiar with the local topography.”

“Of course.” She turned to me in a sudden flurry of impulse: “Howie, I have to talk to you, privately.”

“Right now?”

“Please, if you have the time.”

Forest put in swiftly: “That’s all right. I’d like to look over your probation report on Miner.”

Ann brought it out of the files and followed me into my office, closing the door. She stood with her hands behind her, looking down at the worn cork floor-covering between us:

“I’m afraid you’re going to think a good deal less of me, after today.”

“That little business with Seifel? Not a bit of it. It’s even a hopeful sign. I was beginning to be afraid that all your feelings were for other people.”

“I’m really a jealous vixen under the skin. That’s not what I wanted to say, though.”

“Strangely enough, I didn’t think it was.”

“I’m in love with him,” she said.

“I didn’t even know that you and Seifel were friends.”

“We’re not, exactly. I don’t approve of him. He doesn’t take me seriously at all. He baits me for being a bluestocking. But ever since he came to the office that day–”

“What day?”

“It was in February, when he was working up the Miner case. He came in to ask some questions. You were up in the north end of the county, and Alex was out. We got to talking, and he asked me to have lunch with him. I’ve been seeing him ever since.”

“It’s no crime. Why the secrecy?”

“He doesn’t want his mother to know. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want you to know.”

“Both of your reasons sound peculiar to me.”

“Do they? I guess I’m a little ashamed of myself, Howie. He’s not my type. Sometimes I think I hate him. All he’s interested in is money and social success. He’s a money-hungry egotist. How could I fall in love with a man like that? Yet I can’t get him out of my head. I dream about him at night. What’s happened to me, Howie?”

“First love, maybe. You’re having a late adolescence. Better late than never.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“Is that so terrible? I admit I’m surprised, but I’m not exactly shocked. It’s time he got married, anyway, and you, too.”

“You don’t think he’d marry me? No. He’ll wait for Mr. Johnson to die, and marry her. ” Her voice had sunk to a melodramatic whisper.

“You’re making him out worse than he is. There’s nothing the matter with Seifel a good woman couldn’t fix. He’s simply spoiled. I’ll bet a nickel his mother has spoiled him all his life.”

“She has. I’ve seen them together. He’s just like a big cat, purring when she strokes him. Oh, I despise that man!”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

She turned away and wiped her brimming eyes. Her voice came muffled through Kleenex: “Howie, there’s something else. I’m sorry. This wasn’t what I meant to talk about at all. You sort of drew it out of me.”

“Call me Torquemada.”

“No, don’t joke now. This is serious. It may be important. I ought to have told you right away. I couldn’t make myself. I don’t know what’s becoming of me, morally–”